The Girl in the Nile

by Michael Pearce

  “There’s a hump on the shoal,” he said. “She was lying round that.”

  “Show me.”

  They splashed out to the shoal. The water was shallow and hardly came up to their knees.

  The shoal was some twenty feet long, and about four feet wide. At the downstream end it rose into a little hump.

  “She was lying round that,” said the watchman. “Head that side, feet this.”

  “The body probably caught up against it on its way downstream,” said Owen.

  “Well, yes,” said Mahmoud. “Possibly. But you can see from the mud that normally the upper part of the shoal is above the water.”

  “The wash of a boat? The Prince’s boat?”

  “Possibly.”

  Mahmoud examined the mud carefully.

  “We’ll have to get the trackers out here,” he said. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Does it matter?” asked Owen. “If anything happened, it happened on the boat. Where the body finishes up is neither here nor there.”

  “Yes,” said Mahmoud. “Except that there’s one thing I find puzzling. I can accept that the body might have been carried high up on to the shoal by an exceptionally heavy wash from a boat. But I find it hard to believe in a second exceptionally heavy wash from a boat in the same morning—one so heavy as to carry the body off again.”

  ***

  Owen had to go back to his men. He found them, as he expected, doing nothing. They were supposed to be carrying out an arms search. In fact, they were chatting peacefully in the shade.

  He put them back to work. The tip had come from a reliable source. You didn’t waste things like that in his business.

  According to his informant, the arms had come into the quarter the previous day. The consignment was substantial, at least two donkey-loads. It would be hidden in the quarter until the necessary deals were struck and the arms could be distributed.

  For a consignment as large as that, hiding places were limited. The houses in this poor part of town were single-story, one-room affairs and there was seldom any furniture in the room. The men would simply come into the room, stand and look.

  Usually they concentrated their attention on the roof. The roofs were flat and used for storage: onions, maize stalks, cattle dung being dried out for fuel, firewood.

  It was under the firewood that arms were usually hidden. The men would run up the outside staircase and make straight for that.

  By now, though, the sun was directly overhead and on the roofs it was unbearably hot. It was hot even to step on them. The men winced as their bare feet touched the plaster and Owen could feel the heat even through the soles of his shoes.

  That was the trouble about missing a couple of hours. If he had not been called away it would have been done by now.

  The men were beginning to slow down. He went round chivvying.

  Two men were taking a suspiciously long time on a roof. He went up to see what they were doing.

  He had maligned them. They were working. Like many of the roofs, this one had a dovecot. It consisted of large earthenware pots stacked on top of each other on their sides so that the mouths all pointed one way like a battery of guns. The doves flew in at the mouths and made their nests inside.

  The trouble was that a number of the birds were inside now and the constables, country boys, were conscientiously taking them out one by one before feeling around inside.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “You told us to check everything!”

  “Yes, but—”

  He was forced to admit they were right. It could be a possible hiding place. Though only for pistols.

  “Don’t do them all,” he said. “Just try a few. Otherwise you’ll be here all day.”

  “We don’t want to miss anything,” one of them said, reaching unhurriedly into another pot.

  “Yes, but we want to get a move on.”

  “Sure!” they agreed equably.

  They were some of the men he had borrowed from the local District Chief. Out here on the edge of the city life was still close to that of the village and the pace was very different from what it was further in.

  He thought it would probably confuse them if he insisted on their moving on. Instead, hoping to expedite matters, he squatted down beside them and gave them a hand.

  In the relaxed way of countryfolk, they began to chat.

  “Did you find what you wanted over there?” asked one of them, inclining his head in the direction of the river.

  Over the houses Owen caught a glimpse of blue.

  “No.”

  “Nor here, either. You’re not having much luck this morning, are you?”

  “There’s still time. If we get a move on,” he said pointedly.

  “Oh yes. Things usually turn out right in the end.”

  “Yes, but only if—”

  He stopped himself. It was pointless. One of the things he had learned since coming to Egypt was that the country had its rhythms and that if you were going to get anywhere you had to work with them and not against them.

  “It was a body,” he said, changing tack. “Over there. By the river.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Yes. Or rather, a body was reported. By the time I got there it had gone.”

  The man laughed.

  “Bodies have a way of doing that,” he said. “Or at least, on this part of the river they do.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Oh well, if you find one, that means more work for the Chief, doesn’t it?”

  “So he doesn’t mind too much if one goes missing?”

  “He doesn’t mind at all.”

  “How might they go missing?”

  “All sorts of ways,” said the man vaguely.

  “They might hit a pole, for instance,” suggested his friend.

  “What?”

  The two men laughed, as at a private joke.

  “They can hit all sorts of things on their way downriver,” said the first man, looking at his friend chidingly.

  “But what about when they’re washed up?”

  “That’s when they have to be reported.”

  The man laughed again.

  “Are there people working the bank?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “On the lookout for things. Things that get washed ashore?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Regulars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they organized? Is there a gang? A society?”

  The men looked at each other, then dropped their eyes.

  “We wouldn’t know about that,” they said.

  They worked on carefully through the dovecot. When they had finished they patted the dovecot affectionately and climbed back unhurriedly down the stairs.

  Owen sat thinking. It was a new possibility. Suppose the body had not been washed away? Suppose it had been interfered with? Suppose somebody had got to it?

  ***

  Owen went to see the District Chief afterwards. He had a thing or two he wanted to tell him. To his surprise, when he reached the office he found the green car drawn up outside and the Prince about to go in.

  “Why, Captain Owen!” said the Prince, pausing for him. “How felicitous! I was just making sure that everything was covered.”

  “Isn’t McPhee supposed to be doing that?”

  “Of course. But it sometimes helps if you remind key people which side their bread is buttered on, don’t you think?”

  Owen wondered in what sense the District Chief was key.

  The District Chief was, in fact, looking rather shaken.

  “After all,” said the Prince with a wave of his hand, “it’s not every day that he gets called on by both Royalty and th
e Head of the Secret Police.” He gave Owen a sidelong glance. “He is probably more impressed by the latter, I’m afraid.”

  “I doubt it, Prince.”

  “You’re his boss, aren’t you?”

  “No. He comes under Mr. McPhee.”

  “Not the Mamur Zapt? Don’t they all come under the Mamur Zapt?”

  “No, Prince. The Mamur Zapt is, well, out to one side.”

  “You, too? Of course, things have changed. In my grandfather’s time the Mamur Zapt used to control everything. He was the Khedive’s right-hand man, you know. The man he relied on to keep him in power.”

  “I am afraid his scope is a little more restricted these days, Prince.”

  The title Head of the Secret Police was in any case something of a misnomer. Head of the Political Branch of the CID was the closest British equivalent. Perhaps, too, in army terms—and some considered Egypt an occupied country—Head of Political Intelligence.

  “Yes. And in the old days he used to serve the Khedive.”

  “He still does, Your Highness.”

  The Prince smiled.

  “Well,” he said. “I am sure you have business of your own with our friend here. Please don’t let me interrupt you.”

  He walked over to one of the low, shuttered windows and sat on the sill.

  “Do carry on.”

  Owen hesitated.

  “Not secret, is it? If it is, I will at once remove myself. Though, as you said a moment ago, you are in a sense one of my servants.”

  “The Khedive’s servants, certainly. No, Your Highness, you are, of course, welcome to stay. I was merely going to ask the Chief why he sent for me this morning.”

  “But is not that obvious?”

  “No, far from it. The proper procedure, you see, when a crime is reported, is to notify the Parquet, not the Mamur Zapt.”

  “I see. Well, man, answer him. Why did you send for him?”

  “The Mamur Zapt was nearby,” muttered the Chief.

  “Well, that seems reasonable. You were nearby. And, by the way, that was very prescient of you.”

  “Hardly. I was conducting a search for arms.”

  “Really? In this vicinity? There does seem to be a lot going on in this neighborhood. Arms, you say? Well, I suppose that’s important.”

  “Yes. To the Khedive as well as to me.”

  “You think so? Yes, I suppose you’re right. They’re just as likely to be used against us as they are against you. We and the British have a lot in common. We’re both unpopular.”

  “Only with some people, Prince.”

  “Well, yes. The Nationalists! Very trying people. My father keeps wondering whether to bring them in or keep them out. Bring them in and they want to change things. Keep them out and you deny them the chance to share in our unpopularity. Which is hardly wise, don’t you think? I’m all for bringing them in.”

  “You could always go halfway. Bring them in so that they share the unpopularity but don’t give them enough power to change anything.”

  “Ah yes. Of course, that is the British solution. And very effective, too. But then, what about these guns? These arms of yours? Don’t you think there’s a danger that if people are disappointed they’re more ready to try extreme solutions? What do you do then?”

  “Conduct arms searches.”

  “I see. Why, Captain Owen, you’ve persuaded me! I am now convinced that your work was very important. Too important to be interrupted. So, fellow, why did you interrupt him?”

  The District Chief, who had not altogether followed all this, looked blank.

  “I was wondering whether he’d received a phone call,” explained Owen. “A phone call to suggest that there were other things more important.”

  “Oh, me, you mean? No. I always start at the top. I get round to the bottom later. As, of course, you see.”

  “I was puzzled,” said Owen. “The message from the Chief came first. Before the message from Mr. McPhee.”

  The Prince looked at him sharply.

  “Yes,” he said, “that is interesting.” He slipped off the sill, walked across to the Chief and stood in front of him. “That is interesting. Well,” he said silkily, “did you receive a phone call this morning?”

  “No,” said the Chief, “no phone calls.”

  “Or any other kind of message?” asked Owen. “Did someone come to see you, for instance?”

  “No.”

  “The Mamur Zapt will check,” warned the Prince. “If I were you I’d get it right the first time.”

  “No one came. There were no messages, effendi. I swear it.”

  “So why,” asked the Prince, “did you send for Captain Owen?”

  “I thought—I thought—the Mamur Zapt was near—and—”

  “There may be a simple explanation,” said Owen. “Laziness.”

  “Laziness?”

  “He heard there was someone senior in the neighborhood and saw it as a golden opportunity to pass on the responsibility.”

  “But isn’t there a difficulty here? You said yourself earlier that you are not his superior, not directly. Yes, and that in any case the normal procedure was for the matter to be reported to the Parquet.”

  “These are facts of which I meant to remind him.”

  “I see. Good.”

  The Prince wheeled away.

  “Carry on,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Another time. Your Highness, I must apologize. I have been delaying you. You yourself had business, I think, with the District Chief?”

  “Well, yes. Certainly.”

  “Don’t let me delay you further. Please carry on.”

  He walked over to the window and sat on the sill.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said encouragingly.

  The Prince sat silently for a moment looking at Owen. Then he suddenly smiled.

  “Touché!” he said. “However, I don’t mind you hearing.” He crooked his finger. The Chief came towards him.

  “The body that was washed up this morning: I am interested in it. If I am interested, other people will be, too. Now. One!” He held up his forefinger. “If anyone comes round inquiring, I want to know who they are. Two!” He held up the second finger. “You are to tell them nothing. They may offer you money. If you take it, I shall hear, and you know what to expect, don’t you? On the other hand, if you report all to me it may be that I shall give you money. Understand? Three!” He clasped the third finger. “It may be that you will come across information which you think would interest me. Information about the body, for instance. Not about the girl, I don’t need that. Just the body. I am prepared to pay for such information and pay well. Now, have you got all that?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “I’m sure you have. But just to make even surer, I am going to ask you to tell me what the three things are that could make you rich.”

  He held up his forefinger and looked questioningly at the District Chief.

  “If people come asking,” said the Chief hoarsely.

  “You are to say nothing. Good. And the second?”

  “I am to tell you who they are.”

  “Excellent!” The Prince looked at Owen. “The man is well on his way to becoming rich, wouldn’t you say?”

  “There are sometimes dangers in trying to get rich too quickly.”

  “Oh, pooh! Don’t be a spoilsport. The man wants to get rich. Let him have his dream! Now, fellow, what is the third thing you have to do?”

  He held up the third finger. The Chief kept his eyes fixed on it.

  “To bring you information, Your Highness. Information about the body.”

  “Good.” The Prince patted him on the back. “Good fellow! You have learned your lesson.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”


  He seemed uncertain, however.

  “Well?” said the Prince. “What is it?”

  “I—I—there is a thing I don’t quite understand, Your Highness.”

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “The body, Your Highness. You said you wanted information about the body, Your Highness.”

  “Yes?”

  The District Chief hesitated, then took the plunge.

  “What sort of information, Your Highness? I will go and see the body if you wish and describe it to you. In detail, naturally. But—”

  He looked uncomfortably to Owen for support.

  “No, no, no!” said the Prince hastily. “Not that sort of thing!”

  “Then—?”

  “The body has disappeared,” said Owen.

  “Disappeared?”

  “Gone. From the sandbank where it was apparently found.”

  “Gone?” said the District Chief, as if he could not believe his ears. “Gone?”

  “That’s right. When I got there it was gone.”

  “Abu?” said the Chief faintly. “Ibrahim?”

  “We got there together. It had already gone. Ibrahim rather doubted it had been there in the first place.”

  The Chief unexpectedly went ashen. He bowed his head between his hands.

  “God!” he said. “God!”

  “I want to find it,” said the Prince. “Quickly, and before anyone else does. Got it?”

  Chapter Two

  Unusually, there was a meeting on the British side about how to handle it. Garvin was there, Commandant of the Cairo Police and Owen’s nominal superior; McPhee, Deputy Commandant, earnest, concerned and straightforward—too straightforward by half to be a Cairo policeman and far too straightforward for something like this; Paul, an aide-de-camp of the Consul-General’s; and Owen.

  The Consul-General usually steered clear of too direct an involvement in Egyptian policing. Garvin reported formally to the Khedive—and the Consul-General was punctilious about the forms. He was particularly careful of any involvement with the Mamur Zapt, which was why Owen not only reported formally to the Khedive but was nominally subordinate to Garvin.

  It was, therefore, unusual to have a meeting of this sort. But then, as Paul, chairing the meeting on behalf of the Consul-General, made clear, the circumstances were unusual.